


Sit Tight, I'm Coming!

by LudicrousLegacy



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: And Varric is the captain of the SS Hawke/Anders, Anders is a damsel in distress, Fenris is broody as usual, Fluff, Hawke to the rescue!, M/M, and a bit of angst, this is pure self-indulgent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:32:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LudicrousLegacy/pseuds/LudicrousLegacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Varric, tell me you’re joking.” Tarquin bit his lip, his usually ruddy cheeks pale with concern. “Are you sure about this?”</p><p>“I’m never wrong about this stuff, Hawke.” The dwarf replied, his tone unusually somber. Tarquin blanched as he finished buckling up his armor, strapping his knives firmly onto his back. “They’re planning to ambush him when he leaves the clinic tonight. And according to my contacts, they won’t be a small number either. I’m telling you, Blondie is in real danger from these guys.”</p><p>Written for the angst meme prompt "sit tight, I'm coming" as requested by Persnicketese.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sit Tight, I'm Coming!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Persnicketese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persnicketese/gifts).



“Varric, tell me you’re joking.” Tarquin bit his lip, his usually ruddy cheeks pale with concern. “Are you _sure_ about this?”

“I’m never wrong about this stuff, Hawke.” The dwarf replied, his tone unusually somber. Tarquin blanched as he finished buckling up his armor, strapping his knives firmly onto his back. “They’re planning to ambush him when he leaves the clinic tonight. And according to my contacts, they won’t be a small number either. I’m telling you, Blondie is in real danger from these guys.”

“They can’t arrest him!” Tarquin cried, almost dropping his coin pouch in alarm. “I’m the bloody Champion of Kirkwall! Surely Meredith wouldn’t risk—”

“I don’t think they want to arrest him.” Varric interjected quietly. “I think they want to hurt him.”

Tarquin’s furious mouth worked silently for a few seconds before he was able to splutter. “Maker take those bloody Templars!” He spat, rising from the table and whistling for Bassanius, who was lounging by the fire. At Hawke’s command, he mabari immediately rolled over and barked, already alert. “I am going to kill them if they so much as _touch_ him.” Tarquin said sharply, and Bassanius gave an encouraging whuff.

“I take it this means we’re going to Darktown?” Varric smirked, reaching behind him to give Bianca a gentle pat.

“As if anyone could keep me away.” Tarquin fumed, stuffing a few health potions into his belt. “Coming?”

“Right behind you,” Varric had already made for the door, and Tarquin and Bassanius followed quickly, stepping out into the cool Hightown night.

Tarquin took a deep breath as soon as they were clear of the estate. “Varric, go get Fenris.” He squinted up at the cloudy sky and scowled, the last of daylight already having faded long ago. “I’m going up to the keep to get Aveline. Meet me in the market square when you’re done; I want us at Anders’ doorstep within the hour.”

“What about Rivaini and Daisy?” Varric asked, “or Choir Boy?”

“No time.” Tarquin said bluntly. “It’ll take too long to get to Lowtown to get Isabela and Merrill, and we don’t really need _another_ rogue. I can’t afford to waste any time when my…my…” he hesitated, “when Anders could be in danger _right now._ ”

Varric had to smile. Only two things in Thedas could agitate the otherwise indifferent Hawke; the idea of his lover in any kind of peril, and the idea of referring to said lover as anything but “Anders”. “You got it, Hawke.” Varric replied, and Hawke returned the smile grimly. “Let’s not waste any time. Your Anders is waiting.”

“Right,” Tarquin thought, “just sit tight, Anders. I’m coming.”

*

Anders slumped over the cot once more, his shoulders tense with strain, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he summoned the last of his mana reserves. This was his fourth attempt tonight to cure the child that lay wheezing below him, his breathing obstructed by some kind of mutant growth in his chest. It was worse than any battle he’d ever been in and like nothing he’d ever seen, even with the Wardens, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.

Every time it seemed like he had finally been able to work the mutated cells free, they latched on again even stronger. Anders was hungry, tired, and fed up, but he knew that there was absolutely no way he would stop until the disease was completely gone.

“Lirene,” he gasped, gritting his teeth. “Another potion, if you please,” he kept his eyes low to avoid looking directly at the boy’s mother, avoid the painful mix of fear and hope in her eyes, the twitch of her lips preparing to either thank or accuse him.

“Anders, you’ve already had—”

“ _Now,_ Lirene,” Anders choked out, and Lirene hurried to obey, uncorking the potion on the run and waving it under his nose.

He grabbed the neck with his teeth and tossed his head back, letting the potion flow down his throat. He shook his head vigorously and dropped the empty phial back into Lirene’s outstretched hand, murmuring his thanks.

As he went back to work, his mind slipped momentarily to Hawke, who would undoubtedly be waiting for him at the estate. Perhaps he had gone to bed already, alone again, Anders didn’t know. He had no idea what time it was. How long he had been gone.

The door had never been locked when Anders tried to open it, but he wasn’t about to wait for that to happen. So he took a deep breath and hoped that it wasn’t actually as late as he feared.

When he finally felt the tendrils of the growth beginning to recede, he had to choke back a sob. Pushing forward with the last reserves of his mana, he felt the cluster shrink and shrink until finally it vanished, and the boy beneath him was finally breathing right.

He sat through the aftermath, stunned, as his mother leapt up from her chair with a cry of joy to embrace her son. He managed, somehow, to offer her a weak smile and a pat on the back, refused what little money she had to offer him, and sent them home with orders for plenty of rest.

Lirene walked over and patted him gently on the shoulder as he sank into the mother’s abandoned chair, burying his face in his hands. “Maker, what time is it?” He murmured, as she rubbed his neck.

Lirene hesitated before deciding to be truthful with him. “Two notches past midnight. And don’t make a scene again.” She added, as Anders tensed further under her hands.

“Hawke is going to kill me,” Anders moaned, rubbing his face and getting wearily to his feet, “I had better go…Lirene, you’ll be leaving as well then?”

“If you don’t mind.” Lirene offered him a tired smile. “And no sticking around to do any more work tonight. You did good. Go get some rest.”

“Mmm.” Anders agreed, stretching his arms and scratching at the back of his neck. “Good night, Lirene.”

Once she had left, he briefly considered simply spending the night here in the clinic. Hawke had most probably gone to sleep already it was so late. Surely Bodahn or Orana had locked the door already. But his selfishness got the better of him eventually, and he decided to at least try.

He had barely stepped out of the clinic, closing the door behind him, when the first Smite hit him straight in the face.

*

“Broody, lighten up a bit, you’re making me anxious.” Varric complained, as Hawke led the party towards the Darktown clinic. “Hey, listen,” Varric continued, as Fenris ignored him, “It’s two in the morning, you can drop the brooding act, just for tonight, stop pretending you hate everyone and everything for a little while.”

“Oh really?” Fenris’s tone was icy as he fixed Varric with a steely glare. “Let me see. Even if this _was_ an act, which by the way, it’s not, I certainly wouldn’t be dropping it in front of the biggest mouth in Kirkwall, now would I?”

“I wouldn’t say the biggest,” Varric protested, “the most handsome maybe, the most eloquent, but not the biggest.”

“Both of you, shut up.” Tarquin growled, without even stopping to look back. “We’re almost there, we need to be fo—”

The rest of the word died on his lips as they ascended the stairs to Anders’ clinic.

The mage was lying crumpled on the ground, arms over his head, barely stirring and surrounded by Templars. One of them was kicking him repeatedly in the stomach, another in the back. One more had Anders’ hair trapped to the ground by his boot. Two more were trying to dispel the locking spell that Anders had cast on the clinic door, and a Templar Lieutenant stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, daring them to come closer.

And all at once, Tarquin saw red.

He was barely aware of Varric behind him, unleashing Bianca’s fury on Anders’ attackers, or Fenris and Aveline on either side of him, swords whipping through the air, felling Templar after Templar, all he could see was Anders, lying on the ground, with that one damned Templar with his foot still on Anders’s perfect hair.

It was over with two quick stabs to the back, and the Templar toppled backwards, Tarquin sliding to his knees to cradle Anders’s head in his lap, uncorking an elfroot potion with his teeth and pressing the rim of the bottle to Anders’s lips.

“Anders...Anders, look at me.”

“Tar…Tarquin?” Anders stirred feebly, his right eye fluttering open, the left already swollen shut. “I…what…what are you…?” He trailed off, lifting his head slightly to drink from the potion phial nudging at his lips.

“Heal yourself.” Tarquin demanded brusquely, reaching for Anders’ hand. “Find out where you’re hurt and heal yourself right now. Please.” He added, his voice softening on the last word.

Anders coughed weakly, and Tarquin’s heart skipped a beat. “Need…lyrium…out of mana.” Anders forced the words out as best as he could, clearly in a great deal of pain, and Tarquin ached to hear it. He fumbled in his belt pouch for a lyrium potion, which he uncorked and gently lowered to Anders’ lips, helping him sip the bright blue liquid.

“Maker’s balls, Anders,” Tarquin breathed, smoothing his hair away from his face. “Are you…well, obviously you’re not all right, but…will you be?”

Anders managed a pathetic little chuckle, his eyes sliding closed as he nestled his cheek against Tarquin’s knee. “If you get me back inside, I will be. Just need a minute to breathe.”

Tarquin nodded once before easing Anders’s head off his lap. But before Anders could do more than whine in protest, he was being lifted right into Tarquin’s strong arms. “Right, you lot,” Tarquin turned to face the others, Anders’s arms around his neck and legs around his waist. “I’m taking Anders back in. Aveline, find out who sent these arseholes, I want this sorted tomorrow. Varric, can you get someone to take care of the bodies? And Fenris, thanks for coming with.” He smiled tightly at them all before turning right round again and marching Anders back into the clinic.

Aveline groaned softly, but otherwise did not react further, completely used to Hawke’s abrasive demeanor by now. Fenris let out a derisive snort and resheathed his sword, muttering about Abominations and idiot rogues. The two of them turned and left immediately, neither of them looking forward to stumbling back to Hightown in the dark.

But Varric simply smiled and headed back to Lowtown at a leisurely pace, already itching to put his own twist on the events of the night.

*

“Move in with me.”

“It’s amazing that you came when you did, I was…wait…wait, what?”

Tarquin sighed wearily, reaching once more for Anders’s hand, running his thumb across his knuckles. “You heard me. Move in with me.”

“Tark, I…” Anders swallowed heavily, a pink flush creeping across his freckled cheeks, “do you mean that? Just…just like that?”

“Just like that.” Tarquin replied, his voice even. “I don’t see why not. All I know for sure is that this,” he leaned in close, thumb brushing gently across the still-tender skin around Anders’s left eye, “is never going to happen again. Live with me and it won’t have to.”

Anders blinked at him twice in quick succession before a smile broke out across his face. “You’re not asking, are you?”

“Nope.” Tarquin agreed, almost cheerfully. “Well, not really. I suppose you could say I’m demanding it, but you still have the right to refuse.”

Anders grinned shyly, shaking his head and leaning in for a kiss. “Andraste’s knickerweasels, but you’re aggravating.”

“I love you too.” Hawke murmured against his lips. “So, is that a yes?”

“Yes.” Anders said, the corners of his eyes crinkling the way Tarquin loved. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my darling Persnicketese. Love ya, Snicket!
> 
> Talk at me on tumblr: returntomasyaf.


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